«The clouds are scurrying and spinning; / The moon, in hiding, casts her light / Upon the flying snow; the heavens / Are troubled, troubled is the night / I drive across the naked country, / The bells go ding! and ding, again! / Lonely and lost, I gaze in terror / Upon the unfamiliar pl...»
«The mirth, now dead, that once was madly bubbling, / Like fumes of last night's cups, is vaguely troubling; / Not so the griefs that to those years belong: / Like wine, I find, with age they grow more strong. / My path is bleak — before me stretch my morrows: / A tossing sea, foreboding ...»
«"My critic, rosy-gilled, as quick as thought to offer / Our gloomy Muse affront, you plump, pot-bellied scoffer, / Come here, I beg, sit down, and have a little nip; / Together we may get the better of the hyp. / Behold those wretched huts: a view to feast your eyes on, / Black earth beyon...»
«For one last time my thought embraces / Your image, all but lost to me; / The heart with wistful longing traces / A dream that hour on hour effaces, / And dwells upon love's memory. Our years roll onward, swiftly changing; / They change, and we change in the end — / Far from your poet...»